


Hero

by orphan_account



Category: Shinhwa
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 07:58:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4617534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Let's get married, Hyesung-ah."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this to counter the writing block I have on another writing project. I usually write more abstract pieces but this time, Ricsung appeared to me in their own misty, foggy, and quiet moodiness. And so I wrote and this is what I have. Not a lengthy piece. Hope you get a good read nevertheless! Cheers.

"Let's get married, Hyesung-ah."

"What are you talking about?"

"Marriage, Pil-kyo. You and me. Together, in health and sickness, till death do us part."

"Eric Mun. You are kidding me, right?"

 

Where did the youthful body disappear to? Age, like a silent cancer, eating away at every bit of what makes up you — what are you? What are you, Eric Mun? 

Back then, we believed. Now, we have to make believe. "Eric," he says, quietly after smokes and wine. "Eric, I'm tired." You turn him over in your arms to face you (you turn him over in your heart, turn him over, over, and over; turn him because he is so beautiful and he's yours). You hold him, you kiss him, you breathe him. You have him --

To survive. Because the alternative is to die. And Pil-kyo is too selfish for that. He picks out your supplements and sends you to his doctor once a year. He leaves heat packs in the pockets of your hoodies during winter. And in summer, his knees know when the rain is coming and always, _always_ , he tells you to "not play a fucking hero tomorrow and bring an umbrella, for god's sake, Eric Mun." 

What he does not say is how his knees ache so bad it becomes impossible to sleep even with the heat balm rubbed into the skin. "It's the bones," he said once when you caught him tossing and turning in the middle of the night. "Short of giving me new bones, nothing can reach deep enough to remove the ache." And so you hold him, tight, tight, and you rub at the scarred skin. Because what can you do, Eric? You who can only play at being a fucking hero?

 

Hyesung-ah, Hyesung-ah. When did the magic stopped? Are we a legend, still? Or perhaps, we have forgotten the mortality of our fiction? Why did we dream, Hyesung-ah? Why did we dream so big? And only to fall so hard? Did we fall? Have we fallen, Hyesung-ah? 

Hyesung-ah...

You turn to me from the doorway (and I still hold you in my heart, turning, turning, because you are so beautiful and you are mine). You smile and hold your hand out, your eyes still so gentle and kind. "Eric," you call out, an indulgent tone in your beautiful voice. "Eric, come on. It's time," you say. 

And I reach out to hold your hand, the warmth of your palm like the slide of heaven upon my skin. The cheers are growing louder as the path darkens. But you hold on to my hand and there's a single beam of light right out in front. "Eric, come on. It's time," you say again, your voice all that I can hear, your hand all that I can feel.

And I smile. Because I have you and I love you. 

Hyesung-ah...


End file.
